The Birthday Present
by seditionary
Summary: After years of treatment in Arkham, the Joker was released. He left town and started his life over, trying to maintain his new-found sanity. Bruce tracks him down. Slash, sexy stuff, language.
1. The Birthday Present

**A/N:** Written for the Live Journal Knight/Anarchy challenge, the prompt was "Birthday".

*****

The fry cook put one hand on the small of his back and stretched, groaning as the strained muscles popped. His back was killing him--he'd been on his feet for four hours straight. He turned and surveyed the old diner and confirmed that the lunch rush had finally died down. He bet he could take a little break now, let Dora and Avery handle it for a few minutes. He saw his boss wiping down tables at the other end of the restaurant and called to her.

"Dora!" He held up the cigarette he had stored behind his ear and gave her a questioning look. The older woman glanced his way and nodded. He pulled off his grease-stained apron and dropped it on the counter before heading out the back door. He breathed deeply of the crisp almost-autumn air before lighting up, then absently rubbed the scar on the right side of his face. It was wider, deeper, and more sensitive than the one on the left, and the changing of seasons tended to irritate it. Working over a gas stove all day didn't help.

He pulled the rubber band off his scraggly pony tail and shook out his hair, then smoothed it back from his forehead. He looked around at the few trees visible from the alley and noted the fall colors creeping in. He grinned slightly. Nice memory--it had been fall when he was released, on a day very much like this one. Then something occurred to him--there was something significant about this date. Oh yeah, the Bat. Today was the Bat's birthday. "Getting on in years, aren't we, Batsy?" he asked out loud. Some days, he felt the man's presence just as if he were standing beside him, but he never expected him to answer. He wasn't that crazy.

Ha ha, well, not anymore. Not like he used to be.

The man once known as the Joker mused on the old times, trying to pin down what was real and what was uncertain--the dreams, his imaginings, it had all blended together at one point and he was having hell sorting it all out again. He finished his smoke, then threw it down and ground it out with his heel. He pulled back his hair, wound the band around it, and tucked a stray strand behind his ear as he took another deep breath. All right. Enough contemplation, break over. He strode back into the kitchen and picked up his apron, preparing to pull it over his head, when Dora stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Go on home, kid." Dora had a small grin on her face.

"Huh? Why, am I fired?"

Dora chuckled. "No, silly! It's your birthday, remember? It's slow around here--me and Avery can handle it. You go on and take the afternoon off, with pay. My little present to you. Oh, and here's a box of donuts from this morning--on me. Sorry I didn't have time to make a cake."

"Oh--well, thank you very much." He'd forgotten he'd used the Bat's birth date when he applied for the job, since he could never remember his own anymore. He took the box, nodded at Dora and waved goodbye to her mentally challenged son, Avery, and headed to the bus stop. He wrapped a neck scarf around his face and took the bus that stopped near his home, a room in a half-way house in the slummy part of town. He appreciated Dora's kindness--she had a soft spot in her heart for ex-mental patients, being one herself--but he had no use for an empty afternoon. He timed his meds very carefully, and having a few unplanned hours with nothing to do threw him off. Oh well, he'd just have to figure something out.

He arrived at his place and checked in. The man at the desk gave him a baleful look--he was no more pleased about having the Joker at loose ends than the man himself was--but nodded as the Joker offered him a donut before heading up the stairs. The Joker let himself into his room and put the chain on the hook. He knew what a useless gesture that was--the thin door and pathetic chain wouldn't stop a Girl Scout if she wanted to get in--but he did it anyway.

He threw the box of sweets on his nightstand and took off his shoes. He washed his face and hands, used some moisturizer on his scars, then sat on the bed for a while, muttering to himself. He was just about to try taking a nap when a sharp knock came at the door.

His eyes narrowed, and he didn't respond at first. He had no interest in being visited by his neighbors--they'd learned that pretty quickly and no longer tried to make contact with him. The only other person who would disturb him was his case worker, and it wasn't time for him to come around yet.

The rapping came again, insistent, demanding. He sighed, got up, and opened the door the width of the chain.

Bruce Wayne was standing there.

The Joker stared and said, "Yeah?"

As if he didn't know him.

"Hey." That voice. So familiar, so...

"Go away."

"No. I've been through hell trying to find you, and--"

"Fuck off."

Bruce rolled his eyes tiredly. "Let me in, Joker. Please."

The Joker shut the door and rested his head on the door frame. _Some things are just inevitable, _he thought. After a moment, he shrugged, unlocked the chain and opened the door. Bruce came in and stood expectantly before him. The Joker took a few steps backward toward his bed, keeping a wary eye on his guest as he went.

"How'd you find me?"

"It wasn't easy. But, it's amazing what money can do."

"Oh, you spent a couple of bucks tracking me down, did you? Nice. Does the Privacy Act mean nothing?"

"I wanted to see you."

"Really."

"Yes."

"All of a sudden?"

"I've wanted to see you for a long time. I just--couldn't rationalize it."

"Yeah--I thought you got me out of your system for good that last time."

"So did I."

The Joker sat on his lumpy mattress and pulled out a cigarette. He pretended to examine it carefully, then looked up and squinted at Bruce.

"Never occurred to you that _I _might not want to see _you?"_

"Oh, it did. I just didn't care." Bruce spoke lightly, hoping the Joker would smile.

He didn't. He scowled instead and asked, "So--why are you here? Why now?"

Bruce pursed his lips, trying to find the words. Some questions had no coherent answer, and he braced himself for the Joker's derision. "It's my birthday. The years are flying by. I don't--I don't want any more to pass without..." Bruce stopped and stared out the grimy window.

The Joker licked his lips thoughtfully and looked up at him again. "Without--what?"

"You know. Without you."

The Joker stared blankly then dug in his pocket for a lighter. "Not a fucking day goes by that I don't think about you, but I don't come knocking at _your _door, interrupting your happy little life, do I?"

Bruce snorted. "Happy. You think I'm happy?"

"I doubt it. You're too rational to be happy."

"Are _you_ happy?"

"I'm fucking ecstatic." Dark eyes burned into Bruce's as he flicked a flame onto the cigarette's end. He took a drag, exhaled, then added, "But then--I'm heavily medicated."

Bruce frowned. He didn't know what, exactly, he had been expecting, Nothing, maybe. No--something, something more... More than this. More emotion. More of a reaction.

Maybe this had been a mistake.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

The Joker was silent for a long moment. Then, softly, "No."

Bruce nodded and paced around the small room. He checked out the view--aged apartment buildings and an empty lot--as he gathered his thoughts, then returned to stand in front of the Joker.

"I came to take you home with me." No use beating around the bush.

The Joker peered up at him, then burst into a spasm of wheezing laughter.

"Because that worked so well the last time?" he asked when he got hold of himself again.

"You've been on your own nearly a year. You've done well, kept a job, stayed out of trouble. I think we can--I think it's time we tried to--"

The Joker stubbed out his cigarette and rose to his feet, just inches away from Bruce. He put his hands on his shoulders and leaned forward, staring with bitter intensity directly into his eyes.

"You think that because I'm behaving myself, I've changed. Well, I haven't. The old me's still inside--he's just stuffed into a little bottle of Thorazine. You don't want that. I'm not that guy--the one you couldn't do without--when I'm drugged up. And you can't deal with me when I'm off the meds. So, go home. Forget about it. Leave me alone. It's better that way." The Joker stepped away and lay down on his back on the bed, shut his eyes and covered them with his arm.

Bruce crawled onto the bed beside him and pushed the arm away. He looked at the man he'd fought and fucked so many times. He was skinnier than the last time he'd seen him, his face more weathered, the lines a little deeper, but otherwise, the Joker looked very much the same as when they'd dragged him back into Arkham six long years ago. It had been almost a year since they'd released him, and Bruce had been determined to let him go, to never see him again.

And yet, here he was.

Bruce smiled and said firmly, "No. I can't. And, I won't. Today's my birthday. I get what I want on my birthday." He slipped a hand behind the Joker's neck and leaned over to kiss him. The Joker didn't respond at first, then wrapped his arms around Bruce and returned the kiss, slow and warm and wet. Bruce rolled over onto his side and took the other with him, noting how frail he felt once gathered into his arms. Bruce took in his scent--cooking grease, cigarettes, perspiration... Soap. He brushed the Joker's forehead with his lips and they lay together quietly for a long time. Suddenly, the Joker spoke into his chest.

"I'm not going back with you."

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Not what he'd hoped for. Still, he wasn't surprised--he supposed it could have been worse. He tried for the light touch again.

"Oh? Flipping burgers still presenting a challenge for you? Keeping your mental acuity sharp as ever?"

"Ha ha. Fuck you."

Bruce tilted his chin up and looked into stormy eyes. "So, you're not interested. All right, I get that. But, now that I've found you, I can at least come and visit, can't I?"

A sigh. "I suppose."

"Anytime I want?"

A grunt of exasperation. "Call first."

"No. I'll drop in whenever I please." Bruce grinned and brushed a strand of greasy blond hair away from the Joker's face.

A huff of disgust and rolled eyes. Bruce planted a kiss on his lips before asking, "Is that all right? Or are you going to go on a rampage if I disturb your--what was the term?--oh, yes, your happy little life here at the Ritz-Carlton?"

The Joker couldn't help but laugh. "Damn you, Wayne, fine. Great. Show up whenever you want, do whatever you want, destroy my precious quiet and solitude. Oh, and have a damn donut while you're at it. It's your birthday, after all. Happy Birthday. Happy fucking Birthday." _To both of us_, he thought, gesturing toward the box.

Bruce reached behind him and found a glazed donut. He took a bite and then offered it to the Joker. He also took a bite and savored the sticky sweetness, then gave it back to Bruce. They took turns eating it, and when it was gone, Bruce took the Joker's fingers and licked away the flecks of sugar. They smiled ruefully at each other then burrowed closer together for another kiss.

As the Joker slipped his hands down lower on Bruce's body, the billionaire congratulated himself for taking Alfred's advice earlier that day. Apparently, blowing out candles on a birthday cake really did make wishes come true.

At least, for a little while.


	2. A Different Matter

**A/N: Hello! Ok, this was not supposed to be continued, but this came about as a response to another prompt on Live Journal, so I'm making it a second chapter to "The Birthday Present." The prompt was the quote from TDK: "And, I won't kill you because you're just too much fun..." **

**Seds**

*****

Bruce Wayne woke when the morning sun forced itself through his closed eyelids. He looked around, orienting himself to the unfamiliar setting; the grim little room with its few battered pieces of furniture looked almost cheery in the brightness. He groaned--he wasn't used to such a hard, lumpy mattress--then yawned, and sat up in the rickety old iron bed. _It's a wonder it's still standing,_ he thought in amusement, _considering the workout we gave it last night_.

He looked over at the man sleeping next to him and grinned at the tangle of long, slightly greasy blond curls that spilled down his neck and onto the not-very-clean pillow. He'd missed that sight. J, as he was called these days, was curled up under the covers with his back to Bruce. He was naked, and breathing the calm rhythm of deep sleep. Bruce took pleasure in snaking a hand down along his back, fingering each individual bone in his spine, then sliding it lower, onto his buttocks, enjoying the smooth curve and warmth he found there. He also took pleasure in giving one firm cheek a sharp, sudden squeeze.

The man's even breaths were interrupted and he gave a choked cry which descended into a strangled cough. He flipped over and shot a glare at Bruce before digging a knuckle into one eye and rubbing furiously. "What the _fuck..."_

"Good morning. I was just thinking of getting up and going for a run, care to join me?" Bruce asked brightly.

"I... hate you."

"Mm. That wasn't the impression I got last night."

"Since when are you stupid enough to mistake 'fuck me harder' with an expression of affection?" the former clown rasped bitterly.

"Oh, I'm not. Perhaps it was the unprompted blow job that threw me."

"Just because I'm willing to suck your dick again doesn't mean I like you."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, then changed the subject. "Did you sleep well?"

"Sure, once my ass quit throbbing. You ever hear of 'foreplay'?"

"Yes, and every time I'd try it, you'd complain that I was treating you like a sissy little first-timer, and why the hell didn't I get on with it already."

"Oh, yeah... " A grin rucked up J's scars into his cheeks. "Guess you can't win."

"With you, I never could."

The man once known as the Joker shrugged and settled back into his pillow, now lying on his back with his hands behind his head. He sniffed.

"Look, pal, this is my day off. Do me a favor and either shut up and go back to sleep, or get the hell out."

"You sure? Men of our age need to exercise if we want to stay in shape."

J cast a disgusted sneer at his bedmate.

"I'm in excellent shape. Just let me pop a few pain pills and I'll show you--"

Bruce rolled over on top of him and bit his neck. "...the kind of shape you're in? Excellent idea."

Twenty minutes later, the pair lay exhausted, panting in a post-orgasmic haze. Finally, J managed a coherent statement.

"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Really? Sorry, I misunderstood."

J couldn't hold back a broad grin.

"That's ok. It was a nice reminder."

"Of what?"

"Of why I never got around to killing you the first few hundred times I had the chance."

"Oh, I see. I forget--why was that, again?"

J raised himself on one elbow and leveled a sardonic smirk down at Bruce.

"Because you're just too much fun. Now, since you're obviously not going to shut up, how about we take a little stroll down to the coffee shop for some breakfast? Like the, ah, _civilized_ old men that we are."

Bruce's grin was back as he watched the Joker--he'd always be the Joker to him--roll out from under the covers and amble off to the bathroom. He moved a little slower than Bruce remembered, and old injuries had left him with a bit of a limp, but he still carried himself like a coiled spring.

As for Bruce, he felt great. Better than he had in a while. He got up and pulled on his clothes, his brow furrowed as he considered the Joker's words.

They weren't _old. _Not even close, not yet. And, they certainly weren't very civilized.

But, fun...

That was a different matter.

*****

**Pleeeze review, all you kind souls out there...**


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